Between yesterday’s meeting, tomorrow’s
Minutes, take a day off – before the night.
Detach the phone, get two hours’ silence,
No shortage of paper – I write and write.
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Hymns and ballads, the pianist fumbles -
“The Battle Eve” and “Jesus shall reign….”
Fine Welsh voices, trained in the chapels,
Not much faith, but the songs remain.
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Always in water it’s fear that I feel.
The only air is what you take down.
If only I could swim like a seal …..
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I never wanted to drive. But my job
Demanded a car. So – grinding the gears -
I quivered out on to roads full of killers,
And forty years’ driving confirms all my fears.
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(The Rollright Stones in Oxfordshire consists of about 77 lumps of weathered limestone in a perfect circle, some nearly lost in the short turf. It dates back probably to 3000 BC.)

How did I get here? Was it just chance
That the garden I planned to visit was shut?
That I drove back home the prettier way
And turned down the lane to the Stones. But –
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(Plovdiv, Bulgaria, 1963)

A warm autumn morning. We climbed the hill
Where Romans and Thracians had left their mark.
We danced and sang, while the day turned dark
For the Moon was eating the Sun:  it grew chill.
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Mom wanted a different life for me,
A life of less servitude than her own,
And education would set me free.
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(Old ladies’ Keep Fit class – with ribbons)

Our bodies are old and scarred and stiff,
But our numbing fingers still can hold
The sticks with yards and yards of bright ribbon –
Lilac and scarlet and green and gold.
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